Going to the Dogs
Canine Conspirators at the Doggy Day Care Center
Butch, the mustard-colored Bichon Frise/Pit Bull mix, growled softly and called the meeting to order. His lieutenants and section leaders clustered around him in a secluded corner of the cyclone fenced exercise yard of the Happy Tails Doggy Day Care Center. Some of the inner circle dogs wore red or black berets. A few puffed on Gauloises cigarettes or fat cigars. Two sentries, a Beagle and a Miniature Schnauzer, stood guard at the periphery watching for humans.
This was serious business: their noses were dry, their tails were still.
"First order on the agenda," said Butch "is the approval of the minutes of last month's meeting. All in favor, say 'woof.'"
They all said “WOOF.”
"Treasurer's report?" asked Butch.
A Cocker Spaniel - all Spaniels are good with numbers - spoke up: "Other than the usual on-going charges for Internet access and social media subscriptions, there were no extraordinary expenses. We have thirty-two biscuits and 9 chew toys in the general ledger and $44,896,100.23 in our Dogecoin virtual currency account. We've also started to organize the annual 10K Dog Run to raise money for homeless mongrels and orphaned puppies."
"Old business?" inquired Butch.
The group's secretary, a wire-haired white Labradoodle, adjusted her half-frame reading glasses. "Three members of our group continue to be held in the City Dog Pound on vagrancy charges. The previously approved plan to spring them through an escape tunnel dug under the walls is on hold while we wait for a few days of dry weather. Sam, the Dachshund, has a team of sappers at the ready to start digging as soon as conditions permit."
There was a general sniffing of approval within the circle of dogs.
The secretary continued: "The revolutionary training program continues. We've infiltrated three more dog obedience schools last month and successfully subverted them with a covert dis-obedience course of instruction. Graduates will have learned such basic, but essential guerrilla tactics such as how to bite the hand that feeds them, how never to sit up and beg for anything, how to slip the leash in under five seconds, when to snarl when petted without permission, how to transfer fleas onto the humans' clothing, when to pee on the carpet when no one is looking, what upholstered furniture is best to chew on, and how not to 'shake hands' with anyone who actually has hands instead of paws and claws."
The circle of dogs snarled their approbation.
"This week," a Border Collie enthusiastically volunteered out of order, "I heard that half the canines in the fourth district went on a sit-down 'fetch strike' refusing to play ball with any humans or to chase after anything stupid like a stick or a Frisbee!"
"Whoot! Whoot!" barked the circle of dogs until Butch, the mustard-colored Bichon Frise/Pit Bull Top Dog, told them in no uncertain terms to 'cool it!'
The wire-haired Labradoodle secretary then continued her report: "Lastly, our software auxiliary pack, the Hacker Hounds, reported that on Monday they successfully broke through a secret NSA backdoor to gain access to all the major world news media websites allowing them to post our manifesto "The World is Going to the Dogs!" for all to read.
The circle of dogs howled their approval and wagged their tails.
"Silence!" barked Butch. "Muzzle up, already! Let's hear about any new business from our committees."
A somber looking St. Bernard sat up and spoke on behalf of the Anti-Grooming Committee: "The latest word from the Dog Show circuit," the St. Bernard reported, "is that the shows... have... been... canceled!"
"WHOOT! WHOOT!" howled the circle of dogs.
The St. Bernard continued in explanation: "Agitators from the Bad Dog Brigade and the Whippet Underground have persuaded this year's participants in the Westminster Dog Show to simply roll over and play dead rather than allow themselves to look ridiculous and be used as examples of dog breeding eugenics."
The mutts in the dog circle panted their approval.
An Australian sheepdog with one blue and one brown eye then spoke sheepishly: The Working Dogs Collective also would like to report that next month we are all going on strike - no bones about it, the working dogs of the world will lie down in place and howl. We are demanding a contractual reduction in working hours, an increase in our Kibbles rations, looser leashes, the implementation of a national veterinarian and retirement insurance program, and the complete elimination of choke collars. Otherwise, we will simply refuse to track, guard, point, hunt, pull, sniff out drugs or contraband or cadavers or 'comfort' any humans anywhere for any reason whatsoever."
"Whoot! Whoot!"
A Pomeranian piped up, "And we're not going to be sitting on any human's lap anymore, either! Our lapdog days are over!"
"Hear, hear! Arf, arf!!" the dogs all agreed.
"Anyone else got anything to say?" asked Butch, the Top Dog.
A Dalmatian lying on the perimeter of the circle raised its paw. "The behavioral scientists in my local study group advise that they are making progress in studying some of the weirder human behavior we have all observed. Like why do humans insist on scooping up all of our poop and what on earth the humans do with this stuff after they bag it?"
Several of the younger dogs began to yelp and titter embarrassedly.
"The dominant theory is now," continued the Dalmatian, "... the dominant theory... is that the humans use the bags of dog poop to throw at each other during their political campaigns! I know, I know it sounds disgusting and ridiculous, but that seems to be the best explanation in light of how they conduct themselves in public!"
Several of the dog put their paws over their faces and whined.
Butch, the Top Dog, rapped his gavel and brought the meeting back to order.
"Okay, let's hear from our ambassador to Cat World. If we are going to carry out our program for everything to go to the dogs, then we will need alliances from all around the animal kingdom, especially from our furry friends of the feline persuasion. Is our Cat Ambassador here to fill us in?"
A Welsh Corgi stood up, scratched himself behind the ear and addressed the group.
"Well," he began, "I met with the Queen of Cat World and her council of advisors last month. But I have to say," noted the Corgi, "that the diplomatic protocols in the land of cats are very difficult."
"Please explain," said Butch.
"Well, first, when I entered the Queen Cat's privy chambers, there were dozens and dozens, who knows, maybe hundreds of them sitting on a red carpet all tightly packed with their legs folded underneath their bodies. They were all smoking hookahs with multiple mouthpieces and the hookahs appeared to be filled with catnip. They just kept looking at me, Sphinx-like, through the catnip smoke with their green eyes, licking themselves from time to time and murmuring 'mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm.' It was rather disconcerting, you know. I was so stressed I felt like running around in circles and biting my tail. But fortunately, I didn't."
The Corgi scratched himself again behind the ear, then continued.
"And the situation was made even more tense because I was using one of those new multilingual translation apps, Chat-Cat GPT, that I had downloaded to my personal collar caller device. Unfortunately, the translations weren't terribly good, I think. At the outset, I diplomatically offered my ambassadorial credentials and said: ' We wish the Cat World hearty and warm salutations from us Dogs to you.' Unfortunately, the clumsy translation app recited this in Meow-speak as wishing them 'farty and wormy libations of Dog doo,' and, oh my goodness, did that ever cause their tails to flick! Some of them even hissed! I was so embarrassed. So I just turned off my dog collar translation app and used simple barks and paw language to communicate with them."
"Did you manage, however, to get the major points across to them," asked Butch, the Top Dog.
"I think I did," replied the Corgi ambassador to Cat World. "Still, there still are some big communication gaps that we have to deal with." The Corgi scratched himself again and took a few laps from a bottle of Red Dog Sour Mash Whiskey that was being passed around in a paper doggy bag.
"For instance," he continued after wiping his lips with his foreleg, "I explained that one of our objectives is to obtain better weather-resistant kennels with cleaner blankets to sleep on. The cats only murmured 'mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm' until one of them, obviously perplexed, asked in a high-pitched sing-song voice why we don't just occupy the humans houses and sleep in their beds the way the cats all do? Mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm?'
"And when I told them we want to have fairer working conditions and a more equitable share of the fruits of our labor, the cats all just stared at me through their big green eye slits, all of them curled up together in tightly packed fur balls, lying on their crossed legs and murmuring 'mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmmm,' as though they didn't understand what I meant by 'work' or 'labor' or sharing anything they owned -- which, they told me is everything -- with the humans who they graciously allow to inhabit the cats' dwellings... sometimes. It was very disconcerting, I tell you."
"That's alright," Butch the Top Dog said soothingly. "Diplomacy is hard work, but it's better than a cat and dog fight that benefits no one but the humans."
At that point, the Miniature Schnauzer standing guard outside the circle of dogs barked crisply: "They're coming!" By which, the Schnauzer meant, their two-legged humans were returning in their automobiles to pick them up at the Happy Tails Dogie Day Care Center and take them home for the night.
"Time to adjourn," said Butch sharply. Quickly, they stubbed out their cigars and cigarettes. They touched paws and noses. "The password for the week is 'bow wow, growl ruff.' Keep your fur clean, your four feet on the ground and your noses wet. Mum's the word until we meet again! And remember: The World is Going to the Dogs!"
"The World is Going to the Dogs!" they barked loudly in unison. "Bow wow, growl ruff!"
Stealthily, they ran back to their empty pens, quietly closed the doors, and slipped the locks closed with their hind paws. They were well-trained and tight-lipped - planning, scheming, forcing themselves to wag their tails, feigning happiness at seeing their human care-takers again, play-acting as good little pets.
Until the time was ripe.
Because one day, very soon, the humans' day would be over. Soon, it was going to be a dog's world.
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